[Ben Whittle Investigations 01.0] The Revelation Room

by Mark Tilbury

  ‘You can get some of the kids from youth club involved.’

  ‘I want the hall painted, not destroyed.’

  ‘They’d enjoy it. Kids can go a long way on fizzy drinks. Rhonda and Anne could help out with the church services.’

  Tom turned to Ben. ‘What about you, son? Is this what you want?’

  ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble, Tom.’

  ‘It’s just a matter of delegating the work,’ Maddie interrupted.

  ‘Perhaps you’d be good enough to go to the kitchen and pour us all a nice glass of lemonade. There’s a fresh bottle in the fridge.’

  Maddie pouted. ‘So you can both talk about me?’

  ‘No. So we can all have a nice cold drink. I’m parched.’

  Maddie flounced off to the kitchen. When she was out of sight, Tom shook his head. ‘She’s got her mother’s stubborn streak. Sometimes that’s a good thing, but sometimes it can be a hindrance. All I’m asking is that you both take a step back and try to see the wood for the trees.’

  ‘I don’t want her to come with me if it’s going to cause trouble, Tom.’

  ‘Madeline gets a bee in her bonnet, next thing you know, she’s got a working hive.’

  Ben smiled.

  Pastor Tom didn’t. ‘Trouble is, son, bees can sting.’

  ‘Like I said, I don’t want her—’

  Tom held up a hand. ‘I’ve always let her have free rein to make her own decisions. Even when she was little. Children need space to grow. To make their own mistakes because they will be stronger for it. But there’s a whole world of difference between allowing a child to grow and allowing a child to walk in front of a ten-tonne truck. Do you see what I mean, son?’

  Ben did. He’d spent most of his life trying to avoid ten-tonne trucks.

  ‘If she ends up going with you, all I ask is that you take care of her as best you can. That girl is the most precious thing in the world to me.’

  Ben looked at the floor. His best had never been good enough. Not for his father. Not for Whittle Investigations. Not for his playground tormentors. Stutter-buck hadn’t even been able to put a proper sentence together without getting all tangled up in vowels and consonants. So how was he supposed to take care of Maddie?

  Ben spat out the words lodged in his throat. ‘I d-don’t think I can do this, Tom.’

  ‘Don’t put yourself down, son. I can still remember that kid who jumped out of the conker tree.’

  ‘Fell,’ Ben corrected. How could he ever forget the day that Stutter-buck took flight after spending the best part of two hours trapped in that conker tree?

  ‘What was it you said that day?’

  Ben tugged his earlobe. ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘You said you wished you were dead. Do you remember?’

  He remembered only too well. The humiliation. The searing pain in his right knee. Pastor Tom bending over him.

  ‘You said that you couldn’t see any point in carrying on? But there’s always a point, son. Even when we don’t see the point of the point if you catch my drift?’

  Ben wanted to reach out and hug Pastor Tom. Something he’d never been able to do with his own father. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘But I watched that kid grow.’

  ‘Like a beanstalk.’

  ‘I watched him lose that stammer. I watched him battle. Word by word. Do you remember how we talked about climbing a mountain that summer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How I said that it’s important not to look up. You remember why it’s important not to look up?’

  ‘Because it always looks higher than it is.’

  ‘Too right, it does. Same thing as if you look down from the top. It looks a mighty long way to fall. Do you remember how I said you need to find footholds to help you up the mountain?’

  Ben did. He remembered almost every minute of that summer eight years ago. Pastor Tom had called the weather schizophrenic. One minute it was pouring with rain, the next, scorching sunshine. Tom had told Ben how the weather always played havoc with his joints, but it hadn’t stopped him teaching Ben how to work Old Joe’s mechanism with his misshapen hands gripping the levers.

  ‘You climbed that mountain, son. You stood on the summit and you planted your flag right in God’s face.’

  Ben didn’t think he’d reached a summit. He worked in an office and made Airfix models in his spare time. His social life consisted solely of youth club. Two stars for being a good boy, a big fat zero for enterprise.

  ‘You deserve a medal for what you’ve achieved.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the kids,’ Ben said, in his best Old Joe voice.

  Tom’s eyes sparkled beneath the shadow of his trilby. ‘I know you’re sweet on Madeline, son. That’s why I know you’ll do your best to look out for her.’

  A blush crept up Ben’s neck. ‘Maddie’s a good friend.’

  Tom smiled. ‘When I was in Rwanda, I met the most wonderful people you could ever wish to meet. They had nothing. Decimated by war, poverty and disease. But do you know the one thing they all had in abundance?’

  ‘Each other?’

  ‘They had hope, son. And hope is the rope that will get you up the mountain.’

  Maddie returned with two glasses of lemonade and handed one to each man. ‘We’ve made real headway today.’

  Tom drained half his drink in one draught. ‘And now you need to stand back and take stock. It’s one thing agreeing to join a cult, quite another getting mixed up in one. They’re dangerous.’

  Maddie put her hands on her hips. ‘We won’t get very far without getting mixed up with them.’

  ‘This isn’t a game, Madeline.’

  ‘Neither was Rwanda. But it didn’t stop you and Mum staying out there, did it?’

  ‘That’s differ—’

  ‘What was it you always told me? Face evil. Confront it. Never turn a blind eye. Wasn’t that what you said?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Who said it’s wrong to turn a blind eye and just walk away?’

  Tom put his glass down. The warmth vanished from his eyes. ‘I said those things, Madeline, because they’re true.’

  ‘So what’s the problem with me wanting to help Ben, then?’

  ‘Nothing at all. I just don’t want you rushing headlong into something you can’t control. You need to have a proper plan of action.’

  ‘I know that. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘You’re not immune to getting hurt.’

  ‘I survived the attack on the village in Rwanda.’

  ‘God can’t always be there to look out for you, Madeline.’

  Maddie looked at Ben. ‘You’ll look after me, won’t you?’

  Ben held up a hand. ‘Please don’t fight.’

  Maddie’s eyes flashed in the sunlight. ‘We’re not fighting.’

  ‘I don’t want you to come,’ Ben lied.

  ‘Tough. I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.’

  ‘Then I won’t go.’

  Maddie gawked at him. ‘So you’re going to give up just like that? Just because—’

  Ben stamped his foot and then felt instantly childish. ‘I don’t want to cause trouble. I’ve had enough trouble with my own family. This isn’t your problem.’

  Tom turned to Ben. ‘It’s all right, son. If Madeline wants to go, then she goes with my blessing. All I ask is that we sit down together and work out a proper plan.’

  Maddie nodded. ‘Okay by me.’

  Ben wasn’t so sure. ‘And if it all goes wrong?’

  Maddie grinned. ‘I’ve got a black belt in Tae kwon do.’

  ‘That won’t be much use against a gun.’

  ‘Then we’ll just have to outsmart them. I could twist Marcus around my little finger if I wanted to.’

  Ben remembered his father’s desperate call. ‘It’ll take more than that.’

  Maddie tilted her chin up. ‘I know this cult isn’t a few hippies sitting around a campfire smoking a
peace pipe. I’m well aware of the dangers. I just want to help you, Ben.’

  Ben opened his mouth to protest, but arguing with Maddie was like arguing with the wind about which way it was blowing.

  ‘Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen and thrash out a plan of action,’ Tom said.

  Maddie agreed. ‘I’m up for that.’

  Tom poured fresh lemonade for the three of them. They sat huddled around the small kitchen table like conspirators plotting the downfall of an adversary. Tom plonked his glass down and wiped his mouth. ‘Does this cult have a name, son?’

  ‘The Sons and Daughters of Salvation.’

  Tom whistled. ‘That’s quite a mouthful.’ He pulled out his iPhone and googled the name. He scrolled through the search results. ‘Zilch. Are you sure that’s the right name?’

  ‘I didn’t expect them to be famous,’ Maddie said.

  Tom put his phone back in his jacket pocket. ‘So what have you told Marcus?’

  ‘We were hiking across the country,’ Maddie said. ‘Someone stole our stuff.’

  ‘And he seemed okay with that?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he be?’

  ‘Because liars are good at spotting liars, Madeline. They’re experts at it.’

  ‘He seemed fine,’ Maddie assured him. ‘I told him my dad was a headmaster at a private school. I said I had posh parents who didn’t understand me.’

  ‘What are you going to do if he tries to look up this private school on the internet? At the very least, you’ll need the name of a real one.’

  ‘I’ll tell them I don’t have a clue. I’m not interested in what he does.’

  Tom formed a steeple with his fingers. ‘Be careful. From what you’ve told me, it’s likely they’ll try to extort money from your fictional family.’

  Maddie didn’t seem too concerned. ‘We won’t be there long enough.’

  Tom looked at Ben. ‘What about you? What did you tell Marcus?’

  ‘I told him my dad was a bank manager.’

  Tom was quiet for a few moments, and then said, ‘If you do join this cult, make sure you hide a phone somewhere. That way you’ll have something to fall back on if you need help.’

  Ben wondered if his father had any spare watch-phones kicking about in the house.

  ‘Put the phone somewhere no one else will look. Maybe an outbuilding or something. Be smart.’

  Maddie grinned. ‘A smartphone.’

  Tom grinned back. ‘A smartphone for a smart alec.’

  ‘Hey, that’s a boy’s name.’

  ‘If the cap fits.’

  ‘Much better than your trilby.’

  ‘Seriously, guys, first sign of any trouble, and you get out of there. Run naked if you have to.’

  ‘Across hot coals,’ Maddie promised.

  ‘Be vigilant. Be careful.’

  A big part of Ben wished that Marcus’s leader would say no. That way, no one could ever accuse him of not trying.

  ‘I shall pray for you both tonight,’ Tom said. He looked at Ben. ‘And I shall pray for your father.’

  Ben thought his father might already be with Pastor Tom’s God, eating roast beef and mashed potatoes.

  Tom pursed his lips. ‘Go to your mother, Ben. Tell her what’s happening. Reassure her.’

  Ben thought it would be easier to reassure a polar bear that the ice cap was still in good shape. ‘I’ll try.’

  10

  Edward Ebb looked at the Imposter and shook his head. He didn’t look in good shape. He kept whinging and whining that he’d broken his spine, but Ebb doubted the validity of the claim. He’d kicked and thrashed well enough when Ebb had poked a red-hot needle into the wound in his shoulder.

  Ebb conceded the Imposter may well have suffered serious injuries, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t a doctor. It was of no consequence. But he needed to tread carefully because Satan was at his most potent when lying dormant.

  Tweezer had made a good job of securing his upper body to the back of a kitchen chair with rope. His arms were pinned to his sides. Lumps of congealed vomit spilled onto his chin. His bald head gleamed with sweat beneath the overhead lights.

  Ebb unscrewed the cap of a bottle of Evian spring water. ‘Are you thirsty?’

  The Imposter croaked something unintelligible.

  ‘What’s the matter? Afraid it might be holy water?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  He studied Ebb with devious eyes. Full of pity. Full of deceit. Full of hate. ‘I’m… a… bird-watcher…’

  Ebb laughed. ‘A bird-watcher? So how come you had a long-range camera in the tree with you?’

  ‘I was—’

  ‘We’ve had the film developed. Guess what?’

  His nose started to bleed again. ‘What?’

  Ebb resisted an urge to poke out an eye. ‘There wasn’t one picture of a bird on that film. Not one. But there were plenty of pictures of my courtyard.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Who sent you?’

  He looked away. The way liars always did when backed into a corner.

  ‘Did a demon send you?’

  ‘No.’ The word came out in a bubble of blood.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  The Imposter nodded.

  ‘Then tell me who sent you?’

  ‘No one. I—’

  Ebb turned the bottle upside down and tipped half the contents onto the dusty concrete floor. He then righted the bottle and took a swig. Wiped his mouth. ‘That’s so good. Nice and cold. Straight from the fridge.’

  The Imposter licked his cracked lips with a lizard tongue.

  Ebb screwed the cap back on the bottle. ‘I’ll let you have some if you tell me who you are.’

  His eyes narrowed. He looked like a fox with the scent of chicken in its snout.

  Don’t trust him, Pixie-pea.

  Ebb jumped and turned around. There were three skeletons pinned to wooden crosses on the far wall. The middle one had a pink wig lodged on its skull and sunglasses covering its eye sockets. Ebb addressed it cautiously. ‘Don’t you worry about that. I’ve got his cards marked.’

  Never trust a man with a beard, Pixie-pea.

  Ebb gawked at the skeleton. ‘He hasn’t got a beard. Sister Alice shaved it off to look for the mark of the beast.’

  ‘Don’t split hairs, Pixie-pea. You know full well he normally wears face fuzz.’

  ‘Leave me alone. I’m busy.’

  The skeleton appeared to grin at him. He didn’t like that grin. It smacked of smugness and arrogance. He turned back to face the Imposter. ‘Tell me who you are and I’ll let you have a drink.’

  ‘A… bird-watcher….’

  Ebb threw the bottle at him. It bounced off his forehead and landed on the floor next to his chair. The Imposter wriggled like a maggot on a fishhook. At one point, he almost tipped himself over.

  ‘Sit still. I shan’t pick you up if you tip yourself over.’

  He stared at Ebb with those deceitful eyes. ‘Please. I’m… in… agony….’

  Ebb snorted. ‘And I’m a busy man. All you need to do is tell me who you are and who sent you, and this will be over and done with.’

  Done and dusted, Pixie-pea.

  Ebb ignored the voice. ‘Wouldn’t you like that?’

  The Imposter nodded his head and winced. Ebb noticed that two of his front teeth were missing. ‘Would you like Sister Alice to splint that leg and wash your wounds?’

  He nodded.

  ‘So tell me who you are?’

  The Imposter exercised his right to remain silent.

  Ebb reached into the pocket of his white ceremonial robe and pulled out a small glass vial. He held it up in front of his quarry. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s holy water. Do you know what holy water is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. So you’ll understand it burns the skin of evildoers?’

  His eyes widened. ‘Please…
don’t… do… this…’

  Ebb uncapped the bottle. There was a tiny dropper attached to the lid. He drew some of the liquid into the dropper and stepped closer. Close enough to smell his rank body. The stench of bodily waste was almost too much to bear.

  He wheezed and rasped like a knackered engine trying to whirr into life. ‘Geoff… my name’s… Geoff.…’

  Ebb stepped back, looking for signs of deception. ‘Geoff who?’

  He sucked in air through clenched teeth. He gasped five or six times, as if he were about to deliver a baby demon, and then shook his head.

  Ebb tried to summon patience. It was wearing as thin as the Imposter’s hair. ‘Geoff who?’

  He looked away.

  The demon was toying with him. Teasing him. Trying to provoke him. Ebb refused to rise to it. ‘I don’t particularly care what your name is. I want you to tell me who sent you.’

  ‘I’m a bird-watcher.’

  ‘Did Satan send you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Does Satan reside in you?’

  A long drawn out wheeze, and then: ‘No.’

  ‘I expect nothing other than denial from a terrorist.’

  The Imposter’s eyes rolled back in his head. Further indication he was harbouring a demon. ‘I’m not—’

  Ebb raised a hand and stepped back. ‘I fear no evil. I shall not stand in the shadow of evil. I am the light, and I am the resurrection.’

  ‘I’m… Geoff….’ The words sounded as if they’d been raked over hot coals. The hot coals of Hell.

  ‘Show yourself, Satan.’

  ‘I’m… not… Satan….’

  ‘Denial is always the first port of call for Satan’s seafarers.’ He stepped forward again and held out the dropper. ‘The holy water shall determine your validity.’

  He stared at Ebb with those treacherous eyes.

  ‘Do you fear the holy water, Satan?’

  Satan did. He’d written his confession in a thousand lines upon the Imposter’s face. And well he might fear the holy water. Just as he’d been right to fear the hot needle that Ebb had thrust into his wounded shoulder. Like all cowards, Satan was not as good at taking pain as he was at dishing it out.

  Ebb dripped a few drops of holy water onto the Imposter’s right hand.

  The coward did not stand on ceremony. He bucked and writhed and tipped himself sideways onto the cold concrete floor. His head hit the ground with a nasty thud, reminiscent of when Ebb had hit his mother over the head with a shovel many years ago.